A guilty pleasure in our home? We love watching The Mandalorian and can’t wait for the next series in March! One of the things I love best about Mando is his monotonal delivery. I always giggle at his stiff exterior - which melts when his actions demonstrate compassion and love for baby Yoda. A big reason Mando's character speaks to me so deeply is that he reminds me of my father. Dad rarely expressed emotions verbally; one needed to read his intentions through his daily actions. Today, my dad would have been 99 years old! He died in December of 2004, just shy of his 80th birthday. I've been thinking about him a lot lately and wanted to "introduce" him to y'all...
One sunny day, we were driving down Boundary Road running errands. By this time in life, Dad would accept my offer to drive without complaint. Although this non-sexist perspective took decades to arrive at and there were several “incidents” where I needed to pull over and swear at him until he stopped criticizing my driving... But surely, I digress! Driving is an interesting activity. There is a freedom of speech when two people are seated side-by-side; facing front. It can reap some unexpected conversations. It feels less confrontational? than when you are making f2f eye contact, and long drives eek out some conversational gems. His gem on that day was declaring to me that he felt unsuccessful. This shocked me for many reasons:
1. We rarely talked about feelings.
2. He was a successful business owner.
3. He and my mother had a “successful” marriage of over 50 years.
4. My parents had three children, owned their own home outright, and seemed happy.
5. Both my parents were liked and respected by all who knew them.
I probed a bit, but he didn’t really have a clear “reason” as to why he felt that way other than a lack of extreme financial success. I reflected messages 1 through 5 back to him, explaining why I believed that he had led a very successful life. I reminded him that he should be proud of his family, friendships, life’s work, etc. And then we fell silent and completed our errand run.
I share this story now, on his 99th birthday, because it haunts me a bit. I hope that my father did not go to his grave feeling unsuccessful. You would have loved my dad. He was smart, witty, kind, generous, resourceful, and loving in his own way. Admittedly, in the Japanese Canadian household of our era – there were few hugs or physical demonstrations of affection. PDA was not a “problem” it just wasn’t a regular part of our day-to-day existence until grandchildren. But here’s what I did see and hear:
I could be anything that I put my mind to…
I was shown regularly that my parents believed me to be:
smart
beautiful (my middle name, Nobumi = straight, tall, beautiful)
mouthy (I read this to mean confident)
an Amanojaku – this means when someone says black, I say white (not intended as a compliment but I believe it says I was demonstrating strong critical thinking)
the best person possible under even the worst circumstance
kind and generous - charity begins at home
proactive: don’t whine, just do
polite / mindful / thoughtful – my dad used to warn me that whatever you say (good or bad) comes back to you
a respectable networker
logical (common sense rules)
truthful, with a view to understand that there are always three truths: yours, mine, and what actually happened
There are loads more lessons I learned from my dad, but these I continue to value and benefit from. Timeless lessons that resonate loudly of late, whilst launching my new business.
So Pops, while you may not have hit 100 in your 3D form on this earth – please know that you live on forever in my heart and soul. And your lessons have become my kids’ lessons. Find humour in the fact that you have been quoted in many a long and painful meeting and at copious dinner parties. You were a raging success as a dad, husband, brother, uncle, nephew, cousin, boss, entrepreneur, employee, colleague, friend, etc. I hope that wherever you are at this moment, you can feel the reverberations of your positive energy and good will. I know that I do… This is the way.
